


feline investment

by debilitas



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, pre bl3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: Of all the rich people nonsense in the history of rich people nonsense, Tim decides there is one good thing to come out of it. One tiny, glimmering bit of hope amidst a heap of wealthy, entitled garbage.
Relationships: Timothy Lawrence/Katagawa Jr.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	feline investment

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a commission for my friend Alex. I’d never heard of this pairing before, and have no experience writing them so I hope I did them justice! Thank you again for the commission.
> 
> If you’d like a fic, I’m writing Borderlands content for $1 per 500 words. details can be found on my Twitter @transbrick

Of all the rich people nonsense in the history of rich people nonsense, Tim decides there is one good thing to come out of it. One tiny, glimmering bit of hope amidst a heap of wealthy, entitled garbage.

_Cat cafes._

Beautiful, expensive, coffee-scented cat cafes. In all their fur ball-having and meowing glory. Tim makes a point of visiting at least once a week, collapsing into a pile of cuddly fur after a long day at the casino.

The sounds of computer generated messages from Jack, the dull roar of slot machines fade against the white noise of a dozen cats purring all at once. Tiny skulls bumping against his own, a furry body sleeping on his chest. It’s Heaven.

One time he visited directly after work, snapping the plastic mask off and appreciating the air on his bare face. A kitten curled up in the forgotten mask where it dozed for hours. It almost felt like some kind of poetic justice, even if there was ginger colored fur in his nose for weeks after.

Today is one of his few days off, so naturally he spends it among a group of friendly felines that have never even heard the words _Handsome Jack._ He’s hiding behind a comically large pair of sunglasses to avoid any startled double takes or particularly extroverted strangers, and tucked into a corner booth. 

There’s a snow white Persian in his lap, kneading at his pant leg and blinking green eyes. She is royalty in the sea of tabbies and tuxedos, littering Tim’s clothing in long, light fur. As the newest resident, she’s only recently started to warm up to him — and will only take a pet if bribed with salmon flavored treats.

Tim’s attention is diverted, however, as he watches a group of suits on the opposite side of the room. They wear Maliwan colors, subtle, just noticeable enough to remind bystanders of their power and influence. 

The tallest (and most expensively-dressed) one stands in the middle, picking the cats up at one at a time and scanning them with his echo eye. With each cat he examines he grows more visibly frustrated, mouth pressed in a tight-lipped frown. 

Tim finds the guy’s haircut positively ridiculous, sustained by pounds of thick gel and miles away from a large forehead. He resists the urge to snort; he’s well practiced in stifling giggles at rich men’s expense. Now that he’s really looking, the more unnecessary the Maliwan businessman’s getup seems. 

Tim knows he’s no fashion expert, but he can’t even begin to understand why someone would wear a $20,000 suit to a cat cafe. Rich people nonsense. 

Before the men could catch him gawking, he holds the persian up and in front of his face, white fluff concealing his head. She lets out a single meow, doing nothing else to protest the brief manhandling.

“That one. I want that one.”

_Uh oh._ Tim risks a peek over the cat’s head, seeing the pompadoured businessman pointing a well-manicured finger right at him. 

Well trained, the Maliwan suits head towards him and his newest feline companion. Tim holds her against his chest protectively when they reach for her: he’s invested entirely too many salmon treats in the cat to just hand her over. Especially to a guy who seems so committed to single handedly keeping the hair product industry afloat.

“You. Hand the cat over.” The echo eye gleams, orange and menacing. 

Tim’s resolve falters as he prays that the man won’t turn that eye on him. He feels blood drain from his face at the thought of the Echonet search results attached to his name. His status as a body double, his job at the casino, the… _compromising_ videos—

Tim swallows hard, gets to his feet and hands the feline over. He swears she shoots him a look of betrayal. Now that they’re face to face — face to collar, technically — he can see the small, white embroidery on the breast of the man’s blazer.

_Katagawa Jr_ , it displays in curly, nearly illegible cursive. Who? Tim thinks. He still has leagues of Hyperion employees' names catalogued in his brain, but not a single person with Maliwan affiliations. He doesn’t know anything of Katagawa, though he already seems entitled, obnoxious—

Katagawa holds the cat up to his eye level, lips spreading into a wide smile, irises sparkling with excitement. Teeth an immaculate shade of white, canines just sharp enough to add a hint of wickedness to his grin.

— Cute. Tim suddenly feels acutely ugly, acutely Jack behind the sunglasses. 

“Excellent,” the echo eye focuses in. “Her mother came in 1st place at the 53rd annual Promethea Cat Show. Oh, she’s perfect…”

Katagawa continues listing off traits and statistics Tim doesn’t fully understand, watching the cat grow increasingly uncomfortable under the man’s gaze. She starts to squirm, scratch, eventually wriggling out of his grasp and leaping towards Tim. He catches her, feeling smug. 

All the money in the world couldn’t fix a cat not liking you. They, unlike people, were immune to the allure of a financial bribe. Tim wishes he could say the same for himself. 

Katagawa looks surprised for the briefest of moments, clearly a man used to getting whatever he demanded, seducing anyone and anything with decadence. The white ball of fluff in Tim’s arms may be the descendant of feline royalty, but she remains unimpressed. 

“I want that cat.” _And I always get what I want_ remained unsaid, yet heavily implied.

“That’s not how this works,” Tim stays steadfast despite the suits staring him down. “She doesn’t even like you.”

They both know Katagawa could own the cafe and every cat in it with the single stroke of pen against checkbook. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he gestures for his small army of suits to leave, and takes a step closer to Tim.

“Tell me how to make her like me.”

And so, Katagawa Jr. — without the Maliwan muscle — visiting the cat cafe becomes commonplace. Twice a week he arrives in a nicer suit than the last to sit across from Tim, trying to coax the unperturbed persian to his side.

It gives Tim a smug satisfaction, knowing the cat prefers him. He soon realizes that the art of persuasion is lost on Katagawa, watching him fumble ineffectively. Tim spends the first few visits reveling in the ridiculousness of it all, until he starts to feel a _little_ sorry for the guy.

“Tell me everything about her,” Katagawa asks one evening, lids heavy from exhaustion. 

Tim doesn’t look much better himself. “Uh, she’s white, fluffy, and the collar says Snowball.”

Katagawa comments both on how uncreative the name is and how cheap the material of the collar is. Tim feels slightly less sorry for him.

After a handful of weeks watching Katagawa try and fail, Tim starts to give him actual advice. The man doesn’t want to believe him at first, probably due to some income minimum for people that can tell him what to do, until he extends a cat dancer. And she actually swats at it.

He’s momentarily stunned, rainbow handle of the toy held rigid in a thin hand. She swats at the toy mouse attached to the end again, and he smiles, giving it another swing.

Tim finds that Katagawa doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s all teeth. There’s a semi permanent smirk that often adorns his lips, but a genuine grin is rare. Thin lips pulling back, flashing those sharp canines. Tim imagines that the other man doesn’t have much practice in pleased expressions, because an excited flash of excitement leans more toward threatening.

They don’t ask for details about one another’s lives, and Tim appreciates that greatly. His life requires too much context, too much explaining for any casual conversation, and he has no interest in Maliwan business practices. 

However, he’s already learned quite a bit about who Katagawa is in ways that matter. He’s snippy, oftentimes obnoxious, bordering on pretentious, and impatient, but (mostly) harmless. He’ll lace his words with venom, but never really bite; he’s a cat, declawed. As much as these corporate types enjoyed playing the supervillain role, he’s actually quite ineffective.

Of course, it’s difficult to be intimidated by a man that’s practically on his hands and knees, begging a cat to approve of his presence.

As much as Tim knows, he still can’t figure out why Katagawa hasn’t just plucked up the cat, happy or not, and left with her. Maybe somewhere, deep down in that capitalist heart, he truly cares for her wellbeing.

The sought-after persian eventually tires of chasing after the toy, and Tim expects her to step into his lap for her usual afternoon nap. She doesn’t. Instead, she climbs into Katagawa’s, instantly littering pinstripe slacks in white fur.

Usual mask of smug indifference breaking, Katagawa freezes, shooting Tim a flabbergasted look that he can’t help but reciprocate. The cat settles into his lap, chin resting on a bony knee as she starts to knead the meat of his shin. Tim cringes at the sound of her claws in the expensive fabric, yet Katagawa is unphased by it.

He places a cautious hand near her fluffy head, scratching the space behind her ears with manicured fingers. She begins to purr.

It appears that Tim’s job is done, and he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss these awkward, if not endearing, get togethers.

“Thank you,” Katagawa says, at his most humble. His mouth twitching into the sweet spot between the smirk and the wolfish grin. Tim smiles back.


End file.
